


Hit Me With Your Best Shot

by F4nd0mG33k17



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Benthan Week, Day 3; Matchmaking AU, Drinking Games, Found Family, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Mission Celebrations, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 15:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20245093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F4nd0mG33k17/pseuds/F4nd0mG33k17
Summary: Their habitual post-mission celebration takes a juvenile turn, drinking games come into play. Ilsa and Jane take the opportunity to meddle with Ethan and Benji in the hopes of bringing them together, at long last.(SMUT WARNING! PLEASE DONT READ IF THAT'S NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA <3)





	Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictionallemons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionallemons/gifts).

> HAPPY BENTHAN WEEK! *throws confetti* 
> 
> I totally had something planned for every day, but then life said no to that idea, so here is my first contribution. Its shamelessly self indulgent, entirely juvenile, and has basically no plot, but I have the sneaking suspicion the fandom is going to need something lighthearted before "Day 4; Angst" destroys us all. 
> 
> This didn't turn out exactly how I wanted, and it's definitely a little rough around the edges, but I hope it's at least vaguely enjoyable.
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated as always.
> 
> Wishing you all a wonderful rest of Benthan Week!
> 
> xoxox

After a seemingly never-ending run of small missions, some analyst at IMF headquarters had managed to connect enough dots to prove that a bigger threat was emerging. Ethan had been thankful to have his team back together to stop it. It had been a long, often times frustrating six months, but eventually everything had come together for them and they’d pulled off yet another impossible mission. 

They’d washed up in London, exhausted but mostly uninjured, and Ilsa had graciously offered to take them in until someone could arrange their flights back to Washington. It had been nearly a week before they’d been on a plane, but they’d all been glad for the time off. Will had given them two days to recover from jet lag before summoning the entire team to his apartment for their traditional evening of celebration. 

The night had started as it usually does, with the promise of _just a few drinks_, but they’re all a little tipsy by the time 2 am rolls around. Ethan relishes the opportunity to spend time with his team and watch them let their hair down for once; too much tequila is far less likely to kill them than any of the things they do on a near-daily basis, after all. He’s pulled from the slightly melancholic thoughts beginning to cloud his mind by hooting and hollering that he knows well enough by now to recognise as a sign of impending shenanigans. 

Despite every single person in the room having an IQ of at least 130, they’ve apparently come to the conclusion that juvenile drinking games are the next order of business. Ethan fights down a smile as Ilsa and Jane argue over what to play but he’s instantly worried when they stop squabbling, only to come together and start whispering. The general concern turns to red alert when they glance his way with mischief in their eyes before returning to their spots on the couch. 

“Okay!” Will calls before Ethan has a chance to head them off, “We couldn’t decide what to do, so Ilsa is gonna use some stupid app made for creatively challenged fratboys. She’ll put our names in and it will give us things to do.”

“What if it’s something we refuse to do?” Benji asks, eyes narrowed.

“Any forfeits will receive a punishment of the team’s choice.” Ilsa’s smile is enough to convince Ethan that whatever the app demands of him will be preferable. 

Everyone gets a fresh drink, as instructed by the app, as Ilsa puts their names in and hits _start_. The first round is pretty tame, with things like _take a shot of … _, _remove one item of clothing_, and _... switch drinks with ... _.

“Okay, so this is shit!” Benji’s the one to say what they’re all thinking, drawing laughter from the room.

“Alright, alright, hang on.” Ilsa fiddles with her phone for a second, skipping through suggestions. “Ooh, okay. This sounds more like it; _Round 2 - Player vs Player_. Let's do this!” She taps the screen a couple times more. “Jane vs Benji, first to finish their drink wins. Loser takes 2 shots of the victor’s choice. Go!”

Ethan has to admit that watching the two of them slam their glasses back is pretty entertaining. Benji wins by a fraction of a second, and Jane glares daggers at him as she accepts her shots of Malibu. She drinks them down with a grimace, coughs, and warns, “You’re a dead man next time, Dunn.” 

The competition is clearly what they needed to get things going, and soon enough they’re all warming to the game. Ethan nearly gets his drink upended into his lap in a heated round of Quarters between Will and Ilsa, and his stomach hurts from laughing when Luther and Benji race to finish 20 pushups. His initial trepidation has settled by the time his name comes up. 

“Oh, here we go!” Jane has the phone now, and is smiling as she reads the next card. “Ethan vs Will, shotgunning beers. The punishment says Wild Card - Punishment of the group’s choice!” Ethan tries not to panic over the potential cruelties his team can inflict on him, choosing to focus on the immediate challenge as Benji passes the both of them a beer, before casually producing a ring dagger from each of his sneakers and handing those over too.

While Ethan’s army days had taught him a lot of new skills, he’d never quite gotten the hang of shotgunning a beer as efficiently as some of the others in his unit. Will doesn't look overly enthused by the challenge either, which gives him hope that he might win; the look in Jane’s eye is enough to tell him the forfeit will be painful, demeaning, or otherwise unenjoyable.

“Alright, boys,” she purrs, “Weapons at the ready. And -- Go!”

Ethan manages to push aside the worst of his concerns when the adolescent joy he’s been revelling in for much of the evening wells up again. He and Will lock gazes a second before jamming the daggers into their respective drinks. It seems he’s barely pulled the blade free, brought the can to his mouth and cracked the tab open, when Will crushes his own to indicate that it’s empty. Ethan chokes on his remaining mouthful of beer at Benji’s incredulous, “Holy _shit_, dude! Where did you learn to swallow like that?!”

They’re all dying to make the most of the opening Benji has left them with his unfortunate choice of words, but Ilsa is the one that gets there first. Her voice is soft, tone innocent, but her eyes glimmer wickedly as she drawls, “Why, Benji, I wouldn’t have thought _you_ would need any pointers on _swallowing_.”

The team erupts into vaguely inebriated giggles, barring Benji - who turns an alarming shade of red and splutters incoherently - and Ethan - who is reduced to more shuddering coughs. Luther slaps him roughly on the back when he still hasn’t managed to catch his breath after a minute of pained gasps, and he manages a croaky, “Thanks.”

Before Benji can even attempt to defend his honour, Jane is clapping her hands together with barely contained glee. “Punishment time, Ethan!”

Will looks him up and down, grins, and crows, “Mate, you are _so_ fucked!”

“Yeah,” Ethan deadpans, “Don’t I know it.”

Ilsa huddles close to Jane and they whisper amongst themselves for a long minute, casting unsubtle glances at him every other second. The two of them share a final look that scares the shit out of Ethan, and then Ilsa breezes out of the room without a word. There’s a few moments of worrying silence before the telltale _clinking_ of glass can be heard from the kitchen area. When Ilsa returns a moment later, it’s with a bottle of tequila, a salt shaker, and a bag of lime slices. 

“Fuck.”

Like the sadists they are, the team’s only response to Ethan’s cursing is laughter. Ilsa sets the items on the coffee table and beckons him closer. He can’t help but drag his feet a little petulantly as he approaches, and he flips Will off for the chuckle he doesn’t even bother trying to smother. Reminding himself that a little tequila won’t kill him, Ethan lifts his chin to stare the ladies down. His confidence slips when Jane smiles demurely at him before turning to the room at large to explain. 

“Ilsa and I agree that Ethan should do a body shot.” The team dissolves into laughter at that, but Jane isn’t finished. “We thought it fitting that the victor of the previous challenge be the one to drink.” There’s a second of silence as they all attempt to push aside the alcohol haze and remember what the last round was. Ethan gets there first, and he’s pretty sure his heart skips a couple beats. 

Luther guffaws loudly a second later, having put two and two together for himself, and bumps Benji with his shoulder. “Never been more grateful that you’re better at pushups than me!” he jokes. Benji flushes bright red as he, too, realises he’ll be the one to drink. 

Ethan turns back to the girls, his stomach in knots. “Guys, c’mon. You can’t -- this is meant to be _my_ punishment. Can’t we leave Benji out of it? It’s not fair that he has to get dragged into this.” He glances at Benji, hoping he hasn’t offended him by turning him down when all he’s trying to do is avoid making the younger man uncomfortable. 

“Would you prefer Luther did it? Or Will, even?” Ilsa asks with a smirk.

A resounding _no_ spills from each of the guys’ mouths, and Ethan would laugh if he wasn’t still so flustered. He glances at Benji with an eyebrow raised in question. An awkward second passes before Benji offers one of his signature half smiles in place of a response.

“It’s alright, Ethan.” He nods, as if to reassure himself. “I appreciate the out, but -- I’ll do it.”

With everything settled, Ethan turns to look at Ilsa and Jane for guidance. They stare back at him expectantly. Having never been a particularly wild drinker, despite his army days, he’s somewhat lost as to what they want him to do. Benji takes pity on his ineptitude. He walks around the coffee table to stand in front of him, a smile playing at his lips that says he thinks Ethan is being a dork, and explains, “You’re gonna have to take your shirt off.”

“Oh.” After only a brief hesitation, Ethan drags his tee over his head and lets it drop to the floor by his and Benji’s feet. He feels strangely vulnerable with the younger man’s eyes focused so intently on him. While Ilsa and Jane busy themselves with logistics, he takes a moment to try and collect himself and feels marginally more comfortable when Benji comes back into his line of sight after drifting away briefly. 

“Salt?” Benji asks resignedly, glancing around the room.

Will, apparently having decided to make the most of avoiding the punishment for himself, steps up when no one else offers an answer. “Neck?”

Ethan figures the girls must show some sign of approval, because Benji is moving closer in the next second. He goes willingly as he’s encouraged to sit on the coffee table, Benji’s grip on his shoulder helping him push his nerves away and stay grounded. He lets himself be guided back so that he’s forced to lean on his elbows and is grateful for the support when Benji crowds between his legs. 

The position makes his abs twitch, and there’s a quip about body shots being a work out on the tip of his tongue, but the words die on his lips when one of Benji’s palms lands on his chest. His other hand curls tightly around Ethan’s upper thigh when he jerks as Ilsa drags a damp line down his neck. Between that touch, and the intensity of Benji’s gaze as he reaches for the salt, Ethan barely has the presence of mind to hope that it was tequila splashed against his skin and nothing else. 

He tries not to swallow audibly as Benji lifts the hand from his chest to cup his jaw instead, tilting his head to the side to better expose his throat as he pours some salt out. The errant crystals that don't stick make Ethan shiver as they bounce over his skin. Benji’s thumb brushes lightly over his cheekbone. It soothes something in him, makes it easier for him to let their eyes meet as Benji offers up a lime slice. He shifts onto one elbow to free up his hand. 

“No, Ethan, you--” Benji breaks off with a little laugh, clearly amused by how out of his depth Ethan is. “Sorry. You’re meant to hold the lime in your mouth, Ethan.” He holds the fruit aloft, waits patiently for Ethan to settle back down before ducking his head forward to catch it between his teeth. “Okay?”

Ethan goes to answer, before remembering the lime. He settles for what he hopes is a vaguely encouraging noise. Benji glances over his shoulder at the girls before looking back at him again. They share a final, lingering glance, and then Benji is ducking down toward him. The hand curled around his jaw tightens once more, tilting his head like before. He lets Benji move him into whatever position is best and only manages a short, slightly ragged breath before the younger man is fitting his mouth to the exposed side of his throat. 

Ethan’s eyes slam shut, involuntarily, at the first brush of Benji’s lips against his skin. The rough sensation of stubble scratching against his neck sharpens with the darkness behind his eyelids but he hasn’t decided whether or not he likes it when Benji’s tongue drags over his pulse point. He might black out for a second with how fucking _good_ it feels. He wriggles about as best he can with Benji’s body trapping him as it is, whether in an attempt to get closer or pull away, he doesn’t know. 

The hand on his jaw drops back down to his chest to steady him as Benji laps at the salt on his skin. He alternates between slow drags of his tongue and small sucks that feel a lot like a hickey until long after Ethan imagines the salt must be gone. Ilsa has to clear her throat when Benji shows no sign of pulling away, but even then, he nips lightly at the patch of skin he’d been sucking at before stepping back. 

Ethan’s still too caught up in the sensation of Benji’s mouth to notice the movement behind him as one of the girls begins to pour. He nearly jumps out of his skin as the first drops of alcohol touch his chest. The tequila is surprisingly cold, but the wet heat of Benji’s mouth sliding over his abs a second later is more than enough to chase the chill away. Ethan feels his muscles begin to quiver under the gentle touch of Benji’s tongue, and a shiver runs down his spine despite his best attempt to suppress it. The grip on his thigh becomes less tentative as Benji holds him still. His fingers skate back and forth in random swirls and patterns as he tries to keep up with the stream of tequila. 

It feels as if Benji has been mouthing at his skin for ages, until whoever was pouring stops, and all Ethan can think is _not yet!_. Almost as if he knows what Ethan is thinking, Benji doesn’t immediately pull away. He glances up until their eyes meet, mouth still moving, the black of his pupils encroaching into the blue of his irises in a way Ethan would bet is mirrored by his own gaze. Long seconds pass without either of them looking away and Ethan’s powerless to stop his thoughts as they drift into decidedly indecent territory. 

There’s a plea on the tip of his tongue, for what, Ethan’s not entirely sure, but Benji’s mouth on his skin renders him mute regardless. He forgets how to breathe as Benji catches the last drops of tequila left on his stomach, before slowly tracing the sticky track from his abs up to his chest, tongue dipping languidly into the line between his pecs, blue gaze not wavering for a second. Ethan grips the table so hard his fingers ache, but it’s the only thing keeping him from burying them in Benji’s hair and dragging him into a bruising kiss. 

When Benji seems to think his skin is sufficiently clean of tequila, he rises to his full height. Ethan’s reclined position exaggerates their height difference to the point that Benji’s body seems to cage him in completely. The rush that instills in Ethan is enough to distract him from the way Benji is leaning in and make the first brush of their lips a surprise. 

As Ethan’s mouth opens around a gasp, Benji’s tongue slides over his bottom lip and pulls the slice of lime he had forgotten about away from him. The younger man lingers a second or two longer before pulling back. He doesn't go far; their lips are no longer touching, but Ethan can still feel the warmth of his exhales, the strong grip around his thighs, and the press of Benji’s legs between his own. 

He’s on the verge of doing something very stupid, like asking Benji to _take him home and fuck him_, and the dark look in Benji’s eyes makes him think they might be on the same page. He opens his mouth, wets his bottom lip, prays his voice won't crack, and --

“Uggh,” Will drawls, bringing Ethan to an abrupt halt, “Would you two do us _all_ a favour by taking the bedroom eyes elsewhere and fucking one another already?”

Benji breaks away from him instantly, both of them turning to the room at large just in time to see Luther reach over and smack Will upside the head. Ethan can't help but laugh at Will’s affronted scowl and Luther’s answering grin despite his embarrassment. He’s still watching the pair and coming down from the odd tension high that had built between himself and Benji when the other man speaks up from beside him. 

His response is somewhat garbled, courtesy of the lime slice he’s neglected to spit out, but there’s no mistaking the irritation in his tone. 

“You know what, Will --” Will has no shame and doesn’t even attempt to look contrite, but then Benji is grinning and his voice is rough and low as he finishes, “I think we might just do that.” He hollows his cheeks and tilts his head back slightly, before exhaling harshly and sending the mangled lime sailing through the air toward Will. The other agent lets out a high pitched squeal, the likes of which Ethan hadn’t even thought he was capable of making, as he careens into Luther. 

Their antics draw laughter from everyone else. Ethan’s still shaking his head at them all when Benji’s hand catches his and pulls him to his feet. He gets his tshirt pressed into his grip but barely has time to tug it over his head before he’s being dragged through the apartment and shoved unceremoniously out of the front door onto the street. Benji’s retort runs through his mind on a loop now that the distraction of the others’ presence is gone. Ethan’s stomach clenches with a heady combination of anticipation and nerves. 

Benji manages to hail a cab while he stands there like an idiot and opens the back door for him when it pulls to a stop at the curbside. He slides in a little dumbly. Benji doesn’t make to follow him in, choosing instead to hold the top of the door and lean into the gap. He looks about as jittery as Ethan feels, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Ethan’s part. There’s an awkward moment of silence that has Ethan twisting in his seat.

“About what Will said --” Benji starts, “I wanted us to leave together to fuck with him.”

“Oh. Right. I-- Yeah, sure, it’s--” Ethan tries not to let the disappointment he feels bleed into his tone. The sting of rejection is enough as it is, without having to hear Benji make uncomfortable excuses. He makes to shut the cab door, but Benji’s still in the way. 

“Ethan.” He waits until their eyes meet before continuing. “If you want to go home, alone, and chalk all of this up to -- Well, whatever, just -- We’ll say no more, okay?”

Ethan doesn’t want that, at all, and so waits nervously for Benji to give him another option. 

“Or,” he breathes, at last, “I could get into this taxi with you, and we could go back to my place, or yours, and --”

“Your place?” Ethan croaks. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like a question, but the concoction of nerves and lust swirling in his chest is starting to get the best of him. Benji raises an eyebrow at his uncertainty. He tries again, making sure his voice is stronger this time. “Your place, Benji. Please?”

Benji nods shortly, mostly to himself, before sliding into the seat beside him and rattling off his address to the driver. Neither of them says anything as they navigate the downtown streets. Ethan steals nervous glances every now and then, turning away red faced when their eyes meet. 

For once, late night traffic is non-existent; it seems barely any time has passed before the cab is rolling to a stop in front of Benji’s apartment building. Ethan sits completely still as Benji pays the fare and is jolted abruptly from his odd little reverie when he takes his hand to pull him from the vehicle. He focuses on his feet as they head inside, finding it obscenely difficult to navigate the stone steps leading up to the lobby with the heat of the other man’s palm pressed firmly against his own. He lets himself be led into the elevator and only then does he risk glancing at Benji. 

They’re much closer than Ethan had expected, and Benji’s leaning in to close the gap between them even further, but neither of them has the chance to say or do anything more before a harried young girl comes clattering through the doors a second before they slide shut. She drops her backpack to the floor with an impressive thud that makes Benji jerk back to a more respectable distance, leaving a giant folder in her arms. She juggles the folder about in order to free one hand and run it through her hair as she slouches against the wall at her back, and only then does she seem to notice she’s not alone. 

“Jessie, love, are you alright?” Benji asks, a concerned smile playing at his lips. The girl - Jessie - glances shyly at Benji, a flush stealing across her cheeks when their eyes meet. She seems to grow even more flustered at Benji’s attention and uses her folder to obscure her face slightly.

“Hey, Benji! I’m okay! Just sick of carting all this stuff around for my final project at school, is all.”

The elevator comes to a stop with a _ding_ before Benji can respond. Jessie looks vaguely horrified at having to pick up her backpack again, but Benji’s stooping down to grab it before she can readjust her grip on the folder once more. She goes to grab the bag, clearly embarrassed by Benji stepping in to help, but only manages to lose her grip on the folder in the process. Ethan’s instincts have him snatching it up before it hits the floor and spills everywhere and he gets a squeaky, “Thanks!”, as Jessie grabs it from him. 

Benji’s holding her backpack in one hand, leaning casually against the elevator door to keep it from closing, an indulgent smile on his face. When Jessie tries to reclaim her bag once more, he pulls his hand away and shakes his head. “How about you try not to throw your folder on the floor again, and I’ll carry your backpack?”, he asks with a teasing smile.

Jessie nods quickly and scurries past the both of them, making a beeline for the apartment opposite Benji’s. She keeps her head down as she fumbles with her keys and sets her folder in the hallway the second the door swings open. Benji finally relinquishes his hold on the backpack when she reaches for it, still avoiding looking directly at him. She tosses the bag into the hall and glances forlornly at Ethan before dredging up a strained smile for Benji that grows a little more genuine when their eyes meet. 

“Have a nice evening,” she offers politely. With a final sad smile at Ethan, Jessie disappears into her apartment and shuts the door before Benji can reply. He shakes his head, amused and clearly oblivious to Jessie’s telling behaviour, before turning to unlock his own door and motioning for Ethan to go inside first. 

Ethan has a brief moment of panic being in Benji’s apartment, alone for the first time since the ambiguous thing between them had become impossible to ignore any longer. He grasps for something to say. He tries to keep his tone light and teasing, and not betray the tiny scratch of jealousy he feels as he asks, “So, how long has your neighbour been head over heels for you?”  
Benji turns back from dropping his keys on the table by the door with a vaguely dumbfounded expression. “I-- What? Jessie? She’s not-- I don’t-- Huh?”

“Are you honestly telling me you haven't noticed the way she looks at you?”

Benji’s only answer is to gesture at himself and scoff incredulously.

“God, Benji, how can you not realise? You’re so--” Ethan can’t seem to find the words he needs, which may have something to do with how little space is left between them now. His feet had carried him across the room without him even noticing. He’s got Benji backed against the door with the whole of his body keeping them in place, the warmth of the other man’s skin soaking through his tshirt and their chests nearly touching with every deep breath Ethan takes to try and steady himself. 

Benji swallows audibly between them, voice wobbling slightly as he attempts to protest, “I’m not, Ethan. She wouldn’t-- Why would she want--”

Whatever words of denial he’d been struggling to find cut off abruptly as Ethan comes closer still, until they’re pressed against the door without an inch of space between their bodies. Benji’s skin darkens with a flush when Ethan’s hands find purchase on the jut of his hipbones, and the smaller man’s lips brush over his jaw before settling by the shell of his ear. 

“Benj,” Ethan murmurs, breath warm against his skin, “I don’t really care about what _Jessie_ wants.”

Benji’s eyes shutter closed for one second, two, the blue of his irises several shades darker when he blinks them open again. His hands come to rest against the plane of Ethan’s chest, fingers curling over into the muscles of his shoulder blades to bring him closer still. “Well then,” he rasps, “Why don't you tell me what _you_ want, Ethan?”

A low growl escapes Ethan’s chest, unbidden, at Benji’s words and the coy look in his eyes. He’s moving to eliminate the last slither of space between them even before he manages to respond. Their mouths brush with his slightly desperate confession of _you_ and then they're kissing, hard and messy. The angle is all wrong at first, Ethan’s nose pressed painfully against Benji’s and their teeth clacking as they try to get closer. Benji pulls back enough to tilt his head the other way, and then it’s perfect. Ethan holds him tighter still as their tongues slide together and relishes the way Benji’s fingers dig into his back in response. 

His lungs are starting to burn by the time Benji nudges him away. He scatters kisses over Benji’s jaw as they both gasp for air, unable to stop touching the younger man now that they’ve finally crossed the line they’ve been flirting with for god knows how long. Benji’s pale skin is already starting to bruise under the onslaught of his wandering mouth when he’s pulled back into another deep kiss. This one seems to go on forever, leaving Ethan hazy and making him fumble a little as he reaches between them to brush a hand over the front of Benji’s jeans.

Benji breaks the kiss with a loud moan, head hitting the door with a thud as he leans back and screws his eyes shut. Ethan takes his reaction as encouragement and tightens his grip, holding back a noise of his own as Benji ruts into his hand. He teases his fingers slowly along Benji’s length, cursing the denim between them even as Benji lets out another little whimper that drives him crazy with everything he wants to do. 

Their mouths meet again and again, Benji’s tongue curling around his when he squeezes just right. Ethan busies himself with nipping at Benji’s earlobe when he’s knocked back again so that the younger man can try to catch his breath. 

“You taste like tequila,” Ethan muses between kisses.

“Yeah, well - _fuck_ \- so do you. I hate tequila.”

Ethan stops at that, pulling his mouth and his hand away and leaving Benji spluttering at the loss. He nearly loses his train of thought when Benji slides one leg between both of his and rolls their hips together but he manages to pull back and keep him at bay long enough to force out, “What do you like?”

“Huh?”

“What do you like to drink?”

Benji gapes at him for a second. Then he laughs. 

“Ethan-- Seriously?! You grope me within an inch of my life, and then stop to ask what kind of alcohol I like?”

Ethan feels his face flush at Benji’s words; he might have gotten a little caught up in having the other man under his hands after so long fantasizing, but he’s not sorry. He lets his fingertips slide underneath Benji’s tshirt, gently tracing the ridges of his abdomen as he brings his mouth to Benji’s ear again. 

“Did you really think I was gonna shove you up against the door and make you cum in your jeans?”

Benji shudders against him but doesn’t answer beyond a rough exhalation of, “_Ethan_.”

“God, Benji, I-- There’s so much I want to do to you.” Ethan glances up, watches Benji take in his confession with heavy lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. He ducks forward to kiss the corner of Benji’s mouth, barely pulling back to ask, “Will you let me show you?”

Benji tangles both hands in the back of his hair and reels him in for a proper kiss, licking demandingly at his bottom lip. Ethan’s hands slide around to cradle his lower back but he’s more than happy to relinquish control of the moment as Benji kisses him like their lives depend on it. He lets him take whatever he needs, and when they finally break apart, Benji’s response is a breathy but vehement, “_Yes_.”

Ethan pulls back from their embrace with a grin, tangling their fingers together and tugging Benji away from the door in the direction of the kitchen. They come to a stop in front of Benji’s liquor cabinet. Ethan watches with amusement as comprehension seems to dawn. He’s robbed of breath by the heat in Benji’s eyes when their gazes lock, but the younger man’s voice is casual as ever when he asks, “Any preference?”

Surveying the bottles more as a courtesy than in actual consideration, Ethan shakes his head. Benji shrugs, grabs something, and then the tables turn and Ethan’s the one being led through the apartment. Benji’s place is so small that they’re in the bedroom before Ethan really has time to think about it but he finds that no nerves arise as he takes in the room. Benji flops down onto his mattress without further ado, opening the bottle with a flick of his thumb that sends the lid flying, before taking a deep pull of the amber liquid. 

Ethan takes one more second to appreciate how Benji looks lounging in the sheets before leaning down to join him. He’s barely managed to tangle their legs together and cover Benji’s body with his own before he’s being dragged into a rough kiss, the taste of whiskey unmistakable on Benji’s tongue. Grabbing blindly for the bottle, Ethan pulls back to take a swig of his own and then sets it down on the bedside table. His eyebrows shoot up when he recognises the label. 

“I wasn’t sure which one of us would be drinking,” Benji explains, “but I was pretty sure you’d like that. Is it alright?”

“It’s good, Benji, but I could care less what we’re drinking.” He grins. “Just so long as I get to lick it off of you.”

“Fucking hell, Ethan. You can’t just-- _say_ shit like that, and expect me to restrain myself,” Benji whines, holding himself carefully still and screwing his eyes shut. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Ethan leans in closer, caging Benji in with his arms and shifting the leg wedged between both of Benji’s so he can press his thigh down where Benji is hard against him. “What if I don’t want you to restrain yourself?” he murmurs, punctuating the question with a slow roll of his hips that makes Benji arch into him.

The smug smile Benji’s reaction draws out of Ethan is quickly wiped away when the younger man ruts against him again, purposefully this time, and rasps, “How about you quit teasing me, _Ethan_, and put your money where your mouth is? Preferably before I get tired of waiting and decide to take care of myself, hmm?”

_That’s_ an image that will stay with Ethan for a while, and it takes a few seconds for him to push aside everything he feels about the warning in order to find his voice again. His hands curl around the hem of Benji’s tshirt and he twists the fabric in his grip as he leans down to nip at the side of Benji’s throat. The arousal that’s threatening to overwhelm them both brings his voice down at least an octave, so that he’s practically growling when he clarifies, “Sorry, what was it that you wanted me to do with my mouth?”

Benji fixes him with a disapproving glare for his teasing but there's lust in his eyes that he doesn’t quite manage to bury with his annoyance. Deciding to push his luck, as usual, Ethan quirks an eyebrow and stops fighting the smirk tugging at his lips. He waits for Benji to make the next move. They stare one another down in silence for a long minute, which is ridiculous given that they’re in bed, tangled in one another’s limbs, and miles past turned on, but Ethan’s too curious about what Benji will do to give in first.

He’s in the process of finding another teasing quip to voice in the hopes of pushing Benji through the impasse they seem to have reached when the younger man shifts beneath him. Ethan glances down in time to see Benji’s hand disappearing into his own jeans, and then jerks his head back up at the whimper that finally breaks the silence between them. For a while, all Ethan can do is stare. He’s too caught in the way Benji’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he shuts his eyes, and the way he drags his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle any sounds he makes, to do anything else.

It’s only when Benji blinks up at him that Ethan regains the ability to move. Within seconds, he’s got a hand around Benji’s wrist and is putting a stop to his movements. Another few moments sees Benji’s shirt and jeans stripped off and thrown on the floor. His own shirt is wrenched over his head before he can blink, their mouths colliding as Benji fumbles with his fly. 

Ethan draws away when Benji growls into his mouth and fights his way out of his jeans without the distraction of their drugging kisses. He nearly sends the bottle on the nightstand crashing to the floor in his haste to strip off, having completely forgotten his original plan. He turns back to Benji, whiskey in hand, and quirks an eyebrow in silent question.

“Huh,” Benji muses, “I totally forgot about that.”

Ethan moves to put the bottle down again. “Do you not want to—”

“Whoa, hey, I didn’t say that!” Benji laughs, the noise a little higher in pitch than usual.

Ethan doesn't bother fighting down a smile as he brings the bottle between their chests, Benji’s gaze intent on the glass as he tilts his wrist slowly. He sucks in a sharp breath that makes his stomach dip when the whiskey first touches his skin and the amber liquid runs down his torso to pool over his abs as a result. Ethan wastes no time ducking down to lap it up.

The whiskey is good, stupidly expensive for them to be splashing it about between lusty kisses, but Benji’s too busy pulling at Ethan’s hair and struggling to suppress little noises of pleasure to berate him for the drops that spill onto the sheets. Ethan’s more than happy to replace the bottle if it means he can keep dragging his mouth over every inch of Benji.

He alternates between chasing the rivulets running over Benji’s skin and drinking straight from the bottle, when he isn’t being hauled up with a firm grip on his shoulders so that Benji can fit their mouths together for deep, dirty kisses. There’s considerably less in the bottle than there was at the beginning of the night when Benji steals it from his grip to take a pull of his own.

When Benji doesn’t seem particularly inclined to return the bottle anytime soon, Ethan improvises by sucking a line of hickeys down the side of his throat instead. He pulls back with a smirk at the _thunk_ of glass hitting something solid when he moves down to swirl his tongue around Benji’s nipple and goes back to kissing his way down the younger man’s chest only once he’s sure the whiskey has been placed firmly on the nightstand. No longer having to worry about the risk of one of them smashing the bottle, he works a hand between them so that he can trail his fingertips up Benji’s thigh and stroke him through his boxers; he’s immensely glad he waited when Benji arches away from the mattress and grabs at his shoulders hard enough that his nails bite into his skin.

“Fuck, _Ethan_\--”

Benji cuts himself off abruptly when Ethan tightens his grip, coughing out a moan and then dragging him into another scorching kiss to smother the next one. He keeps a slow rhythm that does more to rile Benji up than actually push him closer to the edge and expects some kind of sarcastic comment when the younger man has to pull away. He tries to preempt the scolding by swiping his thumb over the head of Benji’s cock as he gasps for air and feels himself harden when Benji groans at the touch, loud enough to wake his neighbours’ neighbours. He watches, entranced, as Benji twists restlessly beneath him.

“Jesus, Benj.”

Benji blinks up at him, eyes dark with lust and cheeks flushed. He lets out a long breath before threading his hands into the back of Ethan’s hair and bringing him close enough to press their foreheads together, their lips brushing with his whispered confession, “I _need_ you, Ethan.”

Before he can form a response, Benji’s fitting their mouths together in another desperate kiss. Ethan’s so distracted by the slight sting of Benji nipping at his bottom lip that he doesn’t notice the other man’s hands moving until one slides into the front of his boxers. A moan rumbles in his chest at the touch, even as he fights to pull away.

“Wait,” he pants, closing his eyes and dropping his head as he fights for control. “Just-- I need you to tell me what you want, Benj.” He looks up in time to see Benji arch an eyebrow at him. “I know, I know. I just-- I need to hear you say it.”

Benji’s expression softens at his words, the hand not resting at his waistband threading gently through his hair and tilting his head up until their eyes meet again. His voice is strong in the silence of the darkened room. “Ethan, I don’t know how you could ever doubt it, but I want this. I want _you_.” He grins cheekily, dispelling a little more of the tension between them. “Now, would you _please_ fuck me already?”

“I— Are you sure?”

“Oh, my God. _Ethan._ What is it about our current situation that makes you think I might be _unsure_ about wanting to have sex with you?”

Ethan blaches slightly at Benji’s clear exasperation. He supposes Benji _was_ pretty clear about what he wanted. In a final attempt to quell his, admittedly outlandish, hesitancy, Ethan drinks in the sight of Benji beneath him; body relaxed as he lounges amongst the pillows on his bed, hair sticking up adorably from where Ethan’s hands had tangled it up before, pale skin darkened by the flush of arousal and more than a few love bites. In short, entirely debauched courtesy of Ethan. And if that wasn’t enough, the wicked grin tugging at his lips seals the deal.

Benji must see that he’s made his decision, because he’s reaching for the bedside table even as he drags Ethan back down for another kiss. His arm is twisted at an unnatural angle as he furtles around as best he can and Ethan moves to take over.

Ethan refuses to pull away first and ends up mumbling into his mouth, “Benj, I’ve got it.” 

Benji takes his hand out of the drawer instantly, putting it to better use tangled in the back of Ethan’s hair. They finally manage to drag themselves apart once Ethan drops a bottle of lube and a condom on the bed.

Before he can say anything, Benji’s grabbing the foil packet and holding it between them. His cheeks turn pink as he stutters out, “I don’t— Can we— Do we _need_ this, Ethan?”

“Not unless you want to use it.” Ethan’s a little embarrassed by the way his voice wobbles around the response, but Benji’s preoccupied enough not to tease him for it. He places the condom back on the nightstand, pauses as if waiting for Ethan to say something, and then reaches for the lube when there’s no disagreement. 

“Should I--” He gestures vaguely with the bottle.

“Let me?”

Benji releases the bottle into Ethan’s grip when his fingers close around it, settling himself back against the headboard. He lifts his hips obligingly when Ethan moves to strip his boxers away and his eyes are reminiscent of a deep expanse of ocean when their gazes next meet. For all that his bravado and charm carried them to this point, Ethan can sense a vulnerability in the younger man now that the last of his clothing is gone.

“Benj, you’re so beautiful.” Ethan forgets himself for a moment, but he’s nudged back into action when Benji squirms at the attention and reels him in for another kiss. He slicks up his hand as Benji licks eagerly into his mouth. Their mouths part slightly as Ethan drags his fingertips lightly up Benji’s thigh, the teasing touch eliciting a vaguely disapproving rumble. The noise quickly becomes a louder, more desperate whine when Ethan finally moves his hand up and back and nudges a finger inside. 

Benji hisses, and Ethan’s a second away from freezing in place when he grinds his hips down and rasps, “If you stop and ask if I’m okay, I’m _going_ to kill you. More, Ethan. I can take it.”

Ethan does as he’s told and works a second finger inside, feels the moan Benji lets out reverberate in his own chest with how turned on he is. He moves his fingers slowly, careful to work Benji open so that there’s no discomfort when they move things along, doing his best to ignore the way Benji shifts in an attempt to hurry him up. Only when Benji looks set to berate him again does Ethan crook his fingers.

“_Fuck!_” Benji jerks against him, biting his lip around more expletives when Ethan repeats the motion. When he gets a hold of himself again, his voice is low and gritty, “C’mon, Ethan, please.” He shifts until he can knock Ethan back enough to tug at the waistband of his boxers, eagerness written across his features but waiting for permission nonetheless.

Not trusting his voice, Ethan sticks with actions instead of words. He pries Benji’s fingers away and shucks his boxers himself. When he settles back on the bed again, he understands Benji’s earlier vulnerability all too well. The younger man’s eyes drag over every inch of him in such a way that Ethan can _feel_ it.

Needing to regain some semblance of control, Ethan ducks down until they’re pressed together from shoulder to ankle and pulls him into a bruising kiss. He breaks away with a gruff moan when Benji wraps a slick hand around him without warning, struggling to catch his breath as Benji twists and strokes exactly how he likes it. 

It takes almost all of his willpower to catch Benji’s wrist but he’s close enough to the edge as it is and he doesn’t fancy embarrassing himself by cumming in three seconds flat. Benji seems to understand, laying back again and guiding him down so that they’re lined up. He manages to choke out a rough, “Okay?”, and waits for Benji to nod.

Benji tilts his hips up at the last second and he slides in slow and smooth, both of them moaning as he bottoms out. Ethan has to screw his eyes shut and take steadying breaths as he attempts to bring his body back under control. The sensation is overwhelming. Only Benji’s grip on his fingers keeps him from spilling then and there and it’s a long moment before he feels like he can move.

Benji anticipates his question before it’s even formed. “I’m good, Ethan. You can move.” 

He squeezes Benji’s hand in silent response, readjusting their grip so that he can lace their fingers together before he eases out and slides back in again. He shudders through a couple of thrusts before Benji’s legs wrap around his waist and they start moving together, finding their rhythm almost instantly. Their mouths slant together in messy kisses broken by pants and gasps until Ethan starts moving faster and they give up when their noses keep bumping and Benji’s teeth catch his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

Ethan makes the most of the opportunity presented by Benji throwing his head back to moan by adding to the trail of love bites he’d left earlier so that it extends down to the ridge of the younger man’s collarbone. He bites down particularly hard when Benji twists slightly and he slides deeper on the next thrust, but Benji just moans louder and scratches blunt nails over his shoulder blades in retaliation.

Feeling his abdomen beginning to tighten, Ethan works his still-slick hand between them to wrap around Benji and jerk him off in time with the rolling of his hips. Benji fucks into his grip and groans in his ear, “_Shit_, Ethan. I’m close, baby.”

The endearment very nearly does Ethan in, and he tightens his fist and tugs faster to bring Benji off with him. He manages a couple more thrusts with Benji grinding down to meet him before he’s careening over the edge with barely enough presence of mind to keep stroking Benji until he spills between them too. 

“Woah,” he breathes dumbly, as he all but collapses against Benji’s chest. Benji hums in agreement and pushes the sweaty hair out of his eyes before somehow managing to drag the comforter over them and wrap him in a tight embrace.

They lay in silence as their breathing calms, neither of them able to move more than playing with each other’s hands. Benji tangles their fingers together a final time and doesn’t relinquish his grip even as they start drifting off.

Ethan’s on the very edge of sleep when a thought occurs to him. “Hey,” he murmurs, “I guess we owe Ilsa and Jane a beer, or something.”

Benji stops trailing his free hand up and down his spine and snorts derisively. His voice is thick with sleep when he responds. “I’ve found its best not to encourage them, they’re insufferable.”

Ethan thinks he’s probably right, but a yawn cracks his jaw before he can say as much. Benji’s snoring lightly in the next second. The even rise and fall of his chest under Ethan’s ear lulls the older man to sleep in seconds, their hands still clasped tightly under the sheets.

—————

A week after their post-mission celebration, Ilsa and Jane arrive back at the office to find beautifully gift-wrapped boxes on their desks. They open them up to find matching bottles of whiskey inside. Sharing a confused glance, Ilsa flips open the little card stuck to the side of her box and reads it aloud.

“_I figured you deserved this, but Benji seemed to disagree. We compromised; I got you the whiskey, but he “has free reign to remind you exactly how much he enjoyed having me lick it off of him, should you let it go to your head” ~ Ethan_”

“As much as that image will haunt me,” Jane quips, “This is a _really_ expensive bottle.”

Ilsa clinks her bottle against Jane’s with a grin. “Cheers to that.”


End file.
